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Chapter 15: One Against a Hundred
Brandon drew Lustrous Stinger, the leaf-shaped elven blade pointing toward the battlefield as he commanded his knights to prepare for entry. At a distance of over seventy meters, there was no reckless charge downhill. The riders tightened their reins, keeping their horses at a steady trot. Fifty-plus cavalrymen crossed through a small grove, emerging on the other side into the hollow gaze of the skeleton soldiers.
Black Knight Sasal immediately felt the situation grow dire. Urging his horse into a canter, he brandished his heavy steel sword, its dark form cutting through the pale sea of bones behind him as he shouted hoarsely:
"Turn! Turn, you fools!"
"Third and fourth rows, level your spears—hurry, you maggots!"
His hollow, rasping voice cursed venomously as he split his skeleton soldiers into two groups. One faced Freya’s advancing militia, while the other prepared to counter the human cavalry appearing on the opposite flank.
The spears rose, then with a sharp clatter, were lowered. The first row angled upward, the second extending past the shoulders of the first, forming a dense forest of steel.
Brandon gazed at the cold, menacing spear tips, his expression calm. He seemed accustomed to the tension before battle, his face devoid of fear as he regulated his breathing, preparing for the coming clash.
He observed the ranks of skeletons, finding the scene eerily familiar—like something out of a game. Annihilating one of Madara’s companies was akin to defeating a mid-tier wandering elite monster. Such battles had always yielded bountiful rewards in the past. Most company captains in Madara’s undead army possessed combat prowess equivalent to the upper-middle or high tiers of iron rank, roughly level twenty to thirty in-game terms. If the settings hadn’t changed, he might encounter minor magic equipment above level twenty.
Brandon’s elven blade remained pointed at Sasal’s flank, a silent directive. His knights maintained a slow pace, tracing a tangent that gradually brought them closer to the skeleton formation’s vulnerable side.
His composure troubled Sasal deeply. The Black Knight immediately recognized an experienced cavalry commander—one who knew how to coordinate with infantry to secure victory. Skilled cavalry disrupted enemy formations, forcing adjustments and exploiting gaps for decisive strikes. Novices charged recklessly, only to shatter against disciplined defenses.
Sasal had already ordered his skeleton soldiers to pivot nearly 120 degrees in response to Brandon’s advance. Skeletons turned clumsily, and reorganizing their ranks required nearly all eleven skeletal wizards in his company. At times, the Black Knight worried whether his thin rear line could withstand Freya’s militia.
After the fourth volley of arrows from the skeleton archers, they began firing freely. The mixed force of militiamen, White Mane Legion light infantry, and mercenaries descending from the mountain had closed within ten meters. The front row consisted of faces from various regions—mostly Buchi natives, but also Anlekans and mountain folk. Fear and tension mingled on their faces, their breaths visible as white mist in the cold night air. Behind them, the world seemed blurred, obscured by the wall of determination they formed.
They gripped wooden spears and Madara’s Black Void Blades tightly, their movements stiff and breathing erratic, yet propelled forward by those behind them—instinctively moving ahead.
Before them stood a sea of skeletons, emotionless and unwavering. The undead neither feared nor exulted; they simply held their spears, unmoving. Their empty eye sockets burned with orange soulfire, an eerie sight that chilled the heart.
It was precisely this lack of emotion that made them terrifying.
Freya, her long ponytail flowing behind her, watched the standoff with mounting anxiety. She knew if left unchecked, her side would collapse first. Gritting her teeth, she wheeled her horse around, raised her sword, and charged like a streak of azure lightning into the gap between the two forces.
In that moment, Freya underwent a transformation—from a mere militiaman to a true knight. Her mind went blank, devoid of thought. All she knew was that she wanted victory, to aid Brandon, and to keep moving forward with everyone else along this long, arduous path.
A forest of spears loomed ahead, densely packed. "Freya," Roma whispered from her hiding spot atop the hill. No one knew she had sneaked out, but she immediately spotted Freya’s daring move, her eyes widening in alarm.
Then she heard arguing behind her. Turning, she saw Su, the girl from earlier, seize a warhorse and gallop down toward the battlefield.
So she knows how to ride too, Roma mused absently, lying flat on the rock. Riding looked fun.
Freya gritted her teeth, raising her steel sword. With sharp, precise strikes, she deflected every spear aimed at her, sending them flying high. She rode along Madara’s line, scattering skeleton soldiers as she went. But she could only handle so many. Spears slipped through the cracks, striking her armor. The Wind Sovereign’s Half-Body Armor shimmered, deflecting most attacks, but not all. Two spears scraped across her chest plate, leaving white marks, while another pierced her side, blood spurting forth like a crimson fountain.
Freya grunted, slicing the offending spear in half. Clenching her jaw, she turned and disengaged from the fray. Behind her, the militia clashed with Madara’s undead army. The skeletons’ spears, raised high by Freya’s charge, faltered under the militia’s momentum, collapsing backward. Sasal, witnessing the rapid disintegration of his rear line, was stunned. He had expected his undead troops to hold for at least a short while, buying him time, but they crumbled almost instantly. Turning, he saw the azure-armored female knight rallying her mixed force of townsfolk, White Mane Legion light infantry, and mercenaries into a relentless tide that surged forward, carving out an ever-widening path of victory.
The Black Knight sucked in a breath. Had he more skeletal wizards, he might have stabilized the line—a hallmark of undead armies—but now his focus was entirely on Brandon and his cavalry, who watched hungrily.
Realizing this, he snapped his head back just in time to see the human cavalry adjust their formation, facing his position. The horses began to pick up speed.
Brandon raised his sword.
Behind him, fifty-plus calvarymen followed suit.
"Charge!"
"For Eruin’s victory!"
The earth trembled as the cavalry roared through the forest, stones dancing like marionettes, waves of force rolling forward.
But the retreating skeletons disrupted Sasal’s formation. A dozen skeletal wizards were surrounded, helpless. Sasal slashed down a skeleton blocking his path, shouting hoarsely:
"Level your spears!"
Brandon moved like a black meteor. Leaning low on his horse, he swept Lustrous Stinger forward, the wind pressure of his White Crow Swordsmanship cutting through the first two rows of skeletons like a scythe. Releasing the reins, he raised both hands, blue light glowing softly from his thick leather gauntlets, and with a single motion, flung aside two rows of spears aimed at him.
Man and horse crashed into the sea of bones, several skeletons sent flying by the sheer force of the impact.
Though it appeared perilous, Brandon’s agility—4.3 units, several times that of an ordinary person—made the skeletons’ movements seem as slow as snails. The smallest gap became an exploitable chink in their defense.
"Protect the horses!"
With Brandon’s roar, the first wave of cavalry slammed into the forest of spears. A deafening crash followed as the first two rows of skeletons collapsed, the rear ranks retreating into the skeletal wizards overseeing them.
The mercenaries were highly skilled, parrying Madara’s undead soldiers’ spears and cutting into their ranks. Using the momentum of their horses, they penetrated deep into the third and fourth rows of skeletons, then veered to one side to allow the second wave of cavalry to crash in. Madara’s line buckled further, teetering on the brink of collapse.
Only two or three riders fell during the initial charge, most due to injured horses. Even so, their iron-rank strength allowed them to carve paths through the chaos.
This was a collective charge led by officers of Eruin’s finest, its impact exceeding even Brandon’s expectations.
Though they hadn’t pierced through the two-hundred-strong undead army in one blow, they had pushed it to the brink of annihilation.
Even Sasal couldn’t believe how swiftly defeat had come. Watching two skeletal wizards attempt to ambush Brandon with Dark Curtain, he saw the young man cut them down from their hidden state as though they were standing in plain sight. One wizard’s torso landed at his feet, engulfed in white holy flames.
Another wizard tried to cast a spell from afar but was bisected by Brandon’s counter-slash from seven meters away, collapsing backward.
Brandon turned amidst the wraiths, swinging his elven blade in a wide arc. The surrounding skeletons shattered, white flames erupting from their broken bones. The holy fire spread, encircling the young knight like heavenly light, reducing the horde of undead to ashes that drifted down like snowflakes.
Wherever he passed, tens of thousands of enemies fell as if trampled underfoot.
All present gasped, their breath catching in their throats.
Brandon raised his head, locking eyes on Black Knight Sasal—…
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